Fulfillment
by jlcleaumus
Summary: Padme never went into politics. Instead, at an early age she chose the higher calling of religion, administering the last rites to the dying and the dead. But what happens when a dying Anakin Skywalker turns up before her?


Title: Fulfillment Author: jlcleamus 

Era: Time-Frame of AOTC

Summary: Padme never went into politics. Instead, at an early age she chose the higher calling of religion, administering the last rites to the

dying and the dead. But what happens when a young Anakin Skywalker turns up before her?

* * *

"_Recq'ei etremer don leis, e luc perpimulle luxeas leis"._

Her voice was as soft as the breeze that casually passed them by, and not moment sooner a delicate yellow cloth was draped over the

body. The Whisperer stared solemnly at the ground after she had performed the ritual.

It wasn't that she wanted to avert her gaze from the mangled and butchered form before her. She was neither naïve nor prude to such

matters. Few people were, in fact, since the takeover of her home planet by the Trade Federation, and whatever remained of the

innocents were weeded out once the Empire was established and the Emperor returned to reclaim his native planet. No, Padme

Naberrie's problem wasn't that the gory sight before her affected her. It was the fact that it did not.

She mused on how the years of administering to the dead had taken away from her what had entranced her about this calling so many

years ago; her heart no longer felt that all encompassing compassion and empathy for her fellow sentient beings. Padme had been the

brightest student in her classes and well received by all her instructors, most of whom leaving comments on her prodigious abilities. Many

speculated that the young village girl from the mountains was well on her way to actual office, but it was not to be.

In a move that shocked everyone who knew or thought they knew her, Padme vacated her highly prestigious spot in Theed in order to

pursue what she called back then, "a more holier and righteous calling." Shortly after returning to her hometown of Varykino, the young

but affected girl walked with purpose into the halls of the local _Church di Le Domine._

The Holy Man approached her as the priests moved the body indoors to be prepared for the pyre. His gentle green eyes brought shame

to Padme's heart, for she knew that even after serving many more decades than her, the man still _felt._

"Honorable Father," she addressed him by his title, avoiding his eyes as she spoke to him, "may I return to the shelter for the night? I do

not know how many rites I have performed today, but my mind and my spirit are overwhelmed."

"My dear Padme," the Holy Man replied, just as eager to avoid eye contact as he sifted his hand through his long gray hair, "I know that

this work…takes its toll on our souls…and puts into question, the very natures…of our humanity. But…"

Padme sighed in defeat. She knew that he would give her the respite she needed if she insisted, but the responsible side of her would

never let herself pass up on her duties.

"More have arrive then?" It was more a statement of certainty rather than a question.

"Yes, I'm afraid. Two of them. They are lying in the medic ward as we speak."

"How bad are they?"

"One of them is already unconscious. He has lost a lot of blood and has suffered many injuries. The man does not have long. Maybe mere

minutes now."

The Holy Man paused in uncertainty.

"You said there were two? What of the other?"

As ashamed as Padme was to even entertain the thought, she realized with practicality that the quicker the patients die, the quicker she could return to the solace of her room.

"He is a strange case. The poor man claims to have escaped from the Emperor's retreat."

Both of them shuddered involuntarily with mentioning of Galactic Leader. Padme turned her head nervously towards the south, where they

both knew the Emperor's personal retreat was no more than an hour's journey on a speeder.

The Holy Man continued:

"The Healer tells me he has suffered a great deal of electric shock. There is also a significant amount of a nerve agent in him."

He hesitated again.

"More than a human being could be exposed to and still be alive. By all measurements, the man should be dead by now, but somehow he

is still clinging to life. I do not know whether this is…," he lowered his voice, "the work of the Emperor, perhaps to extend his suffering…

or a true miracle of Le Domine."

"I will look after them," Padme said softly, and the two departed the sanctity of the Church garden to prepare the damned.

* * *

The aforementioned man was as close to death as any sentient being could be. Apparently, the man had gotten into an argument with the

wrong Stormtrooper. (Of course, _any_ Stormtrooper would be the wrong one to start a conflict with.) His body was lined with the charred

skin resulting from blaster wounds, and his skin more resembled burnt paper rather than what used to be organic material. The Healer

informed her that he was fading quickly, so Padme instructed her assistants to prepare to move the man into the Garden, where she could

administer for him his rites.

She again reflected on how a scene that could send a grown man into nausea seemed to barely affect her senses. Was she a bad person?

Was she even still alive? For how could one live, but not feel?

Distraught, Padme turned her attention to the other man for the first time. To her surprise, he seemed remarkably young, barely out of his

teens. Juxtaposed against the recent memory of the charred man, the blonde-haired man looked almost serene as he slept, chest slowly

rising and falling along the rhythm of his breathing as he lay upon his stretcher. Distracted from her current duties, she walked over to him.

He woke, and Padme's heart staggered at the intensity of the blue eyes that stared at her.

"Are you an angel," the young man whispered softly.

For a moment it felt like her knees were about to give away, but Padme did not let slip her profession countenance.

"No," she replied as she walked over to him and placed a petite hand on his elbow. "I'm afraid not. You're not dead yet."

"Am I going to be," he asked in a straightforward manner, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Yes." She regretted her harshness, but Padme had learned from experience that she could never afford to give the dying false hope.

"Your body has sustained a lot. It will not last much longer."

The young man nodded with acceptance. An awkward silence drifted in between them.

"Do you know where you are?"

The young man's eyes left Padme for the first time and explored the chamber where he lay.

"I am not at the Emperor's anymore." Padme noticed his cheek twitched when he mentioned the Galactic ruler.

"No," she replied, gently stroking his hand as she could only imagine the horrors he had suffered through. "You are on sacred grounds. I

am Padme, your Whisperer. I am to administer your last rites as according to our Church of Le Domine."

"My name is Anakin Skywalker," he asserted, as if it was of the utmost importance that he transfer this tidbit of information to her. Padme

noted that he was seemingly unaffected by the morbid nature of her job.

She averted her gaze from him, trying to focus her instead concentration at a blank spot on the wall as she spoke.

"I'm afraid I can't guarantee your safety, Anakin. The Emperor will not hesitate to trespass on our grounds. Perhaps," she stopped.

"Perhaps what…"

"Perhaps you will pass before he can find you here."

To her surprise Anakin did not show offense to her comment. Instead, he squeezed her hand understandingly.

"It would be better for both of us."

For the first time that she could remember, Padme felt a tingle deep within her chest.

It was one of her assistants that interrupted rudely their reverie.

"Milady, he has passed on. It is time."

Padme glanced regretfully at Anakin while her body pulled her in the opposite direction.

"I'm sorry, Anakin. I must go."

"I understand.

He stared at her, fidgeting his fingers, before he finally asked: "Can I come with you?"

Caught off guard, Padme let out a nervous laugh as her hand inadvertently found its way to the back her of neck.

"Why would you want to do that? It is nothing to see."

"It is everything to me," Anakin replied unwavering. "I want to see what will happen when I die."

"Oh…well…"

Her vocabulary did not advance further than that. It just didn't seem right, his request. She knew that were she in his position, seeing the

rites performed on someone else would be the last thing occupying her mind. Yet, Padme could not fathom a rational and reasonable

excuse to deny the young man of his odd request.

"And you don't have to worry about moving me around. I can get up just fine."

He did just that, moving much more gracefully than a living corpse should have any right to. Padme stared at him in awe, her jaw hanging

in stasis.

"Let's go, Padme," he said gently, motioning towards the door that led outside. "It wouldn't be right for me to make him wait much

longer."

They left the sanctity of the Church basement together. The charred man was already waiting for them outside. If his burnt eyes could see,

then he would have joined the Holy Man and the assistants in staring at Anakin in amazement.

Padme knelt on the ground besides the stretcher of the dead man. She was ready to begin the ceremony, but she noted with some degree

of annoyance that her colleagues were less eager to do so.

"Honorable Father," she ordered firmly, "let us begin."

The Holy Man quickly came to his senses. From the sleeves of his white robe he extracted an ancient Nubian prayer book. He placed the

book on the dead man's chest and softly ran his fingers around the outline of it. His hand then made its way to his own chest, where it

found a momentary respite before he finally pointed his index finger towards the sky. The other two assistants did the imitated his

movements, and together the three began to chant an off-key ancient prayer song that Anakin could not decipher.

He did notice, however, that throughout all this Padme remained silent and still, her left hand holding her own forehead, her right hand on

that of the corpse's, and her ear beside what remained of the dead man's right ear. When the others were finished with their chant,

Anakin heard Padme's trembling lips breathe forth the most beautiful sound that could possibly grace his ears.

"_Recq'ei etremer don leis, e luc perpimulle luxeas leis"._

Pity the dead man was unable to hear such a sweet voice, he thought. He was glad that this opportunity did not pass him by.

* * *

"What did those words mean, the ones you whispered?"

They were the only ones in the Chamber. The sun had set ages ago, and the room was lit only by the traditional wick-burner Padme had

set on an end table. She had not left Anakin's side as he lay upon his stretcher ever since they had returned from the previous ceremony.

"It is spoken in an ancient tongue of our people. It means '_Grant them eternal rest, and may everlasting light shine upon them._"

"Do you believe that?"

"What do you mean," she questioned in return, feigning outward confusion mixed in with a small amount of offense at his audacity.

"Do you really care for these people, for whom you whisper to? Does it truly matter to you whether…'the light will shine upon them,' or

not?"

Padme frowned. Out of all the questions the man could ask, why did he have to bring up the one topic that brought her the most shame.

"Of course…"

But then she stopped. His eyes shone at her through the dimly lit room with an intensity that burned through her body, and Padme found

herself unable to lie to him.

"…I guess…I know I should. I suppose I feel, an intellectual obligation to care, almost. It is how I should feel, but…"

"But what sense does it make to hurt oneself?"

His insight touched a nerve in her body, but Padme barely seemed to notice it.

"It is my duty," she said defensively. "My heart must hurt, so that their souls may find peace."

Out of nowhere, at least to her own reasoning, Padme broke down in tears.

"But I don't, I can't."

In a rare moment where she lost fully her ability to control herself, Padme let her head drop onto Anakin's chest. Anakin watched her

apprehensively as she sobbed into him.

"I don't know how many men and women I have condemned, Anakin, because of my selfishness. Because of my inability to hurt, to feel

anything."

Anakin allowed himself to slip his arm around her back in an effort to console her.

"But you do feel, Padme. Of course you care about them. If not, why are you crying?"

Suddenly aware of her exposed vulnerability, Padme jerked her body back into her seat in to her original posture.

"I'm sorry. That was highly unbecoming of me. It will not happen again."

"Do not worry. I take no offense." To demonstrate his sincerity, Anakin took her hand in his own and stroked it gently.

"Besides," Anakin remarked casually, "what makes you so sure they will not find peace unless you grant it to them?"

She did take offense to this, and to demonstrate her irate reaction, Padme sharply withdrew her hand from his.

"I _must _believe that! It is my religion, my faith! Without it I am nothing."

"You will always be something special, Padme."

She pushed aside her supposed anger for the moment. It was not just what he said, but also the way he had said it, in such an offhand

manner as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

"What do you mean," she asked quietly, her face not betraying any emotion.

"I don't know." His eyes searched the room, in vain. "I really don't understand it either. All I know is that…when I first saw you in here, I

knew you were special…that you were unlike anyone I have ever met in my life."

Padme stared at this strange man in disbelief. She was speechless, for she had never been flattered in such a way in her life. Not since, at

least, when she had left Theed to join the Church.

"I'm sorry," Anakin said sheepishly. "I should not have said that. I did not want you to feel uncomfortable."

"I don't know what to feel about…that," she replied coldly.

"It's fine." Anakin turned his attention to the wick-burner. "I'm fine. It's really getting late. You should retire for the night, Padme."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I must stay here with you, until you…," Padme stopped, and looked away.

"Until I die?"

Still fixating her vision upon anything other than the young man, Padme nodded slowly.

"It is my duty."

"Hopefully I can die quickly and make this easier for you."

Taken aback, Padme returned her attention to the young man. She searched his voice for any sign of sarcasm or humor and found none.

"How can you say such a thing," she asked, horrified. Her immediate reaction was so strong that it did not allow her mind to realize that,

perhaps, she did not want Anakin to die so soon.

"You look tired," he replied matter-of-factly. "You've had a long day. You deserve some rest."

"No, what I mean is, how can you be so…nonchalant about your own death?"

"I don't know. It's just that I'm not that concerned about it anymore."

"Does it hurt," Padme asked tentatively. Logically, with all that his body had suffered, every breath he took should have been a living hell.

"No," Anakin replied without hesitation. "Honestly, I have never felt better."

Padme could only stare at this anomaly of a man. It seemed like every other sentence he uttered put her psyche into a state of shock.

"Let me explain," Anakin said, noting her expression. "I've always felt…empty. All my life, it seemed that there was something beyond

my grasp, out of reach. A feeling that I was destined for something else other than a common slave or a mechanic, and whatever that

something else was…is supposed to be, that I have failed in it.

But now, even as I die, and I promise you, Padme, I am dying; I can feel life itself slipping out of me. But I've never felt better, more alive,

more fulfilled. I really feel like I am where I was meant to be."

Finished, he looked meekly at his Whisperer, seeking her approval and hoping that he did not lost her completely with her rant.

She was silent in contemplation for several long and tortuous seconds.

"I guess," she began, "that I should tell you that you feel complete because you are here, in the House of Le Domine, and that you are

under His grace."

She paused, just as unsure of herself.

"Would you believe that?"

"I don't know much about your 'Le Domine', but yes, I do believe you. I'm not much of a religious man, but I do believe that there is an

omnipotent force out there, watching over us, and caring for us. It just seems like I had not caught its attention…until now."

Padme smiled.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Anakin. You are far ahead of me." She admitted this with obvious regret and shame.

"How can that be? You are…" His voice trailed off. He did not voice his suspicions to her, but Anakin had an internal feeling that

somehow this woman was responsible for his newfound feelings of well-being.

"I understand completely how you feel…or rather, how you used to feel, Anakin. Believe me, I have felt the exact same way for longer

than I can remember, even as I've been residing in this Church for what," she counted in her head, "the last twelve years.

I've seen some horrible things in my life, Anakin. I've seen my planet taken over by a greedy corporation, I've seen countless wars, and

I've seen a brutal and evil Empire spread its tentacles throughout our Galaxy, and I've seen so many deaths along the way, Anakin." She

sighed. "I know I'm just one woman, but…it just seems like, sometimes, that I should be doing something about it. That I could, and

should be making a difference.

And I could, too, at least when I am dreaming. My actions and my words would change the Galaxy. But then I wake up, and I feel just as

empty as…as I always am."

She stopped, looked down at Anakin, and smiled at him. Her hands slipped onto his chest as she caressed it kindly.

"But I'm happy for you, Anakin. I am happy that you have found the fulfillment in this house of the holy that I have not been able to."

"I'm still afraid, Padme."

"Afraid of what?"

"I know I feel different now, better. I've told you that. But I also know that I have yet to complete whatever my life was meant to

complete. I'm afraid that I will die without doing so…or even knowing what it ever was."

His eyes begged her to make him feel better, to enlighten him with this knowledge that she could not even know where to pursue. Padme

had to look away, for just the sight of those young, sad eyes was breaking her heart.

"Don't be afraid, Anakin." It was all she could say to him.

"What do you do, Padme, when you're afraid?"

"I pray," she whispered quietly.

"What do you pray about, Padme?"

"I pray…I've prayed every night for the last ten years. I tell Le Domine that I understand that death is inevitable in this world, but I pray

to him to end all the pain that comes with it, all the suffering, all the darkness. I see the young men and women who pass through this

place, who have barely had a chance to live their lives, and I pray to Him that he will end all this waste. And I pray that if there was

something I could do something to make a difference, that if I could…sacrifice something so that this Galaxy could improve, even if by a

tiny increment, to grace me with that knowledge, and to give the strength to carry through with it."

He stared at her, mesmerized by her words, her prayer, and, despite her claims of indifference, by the overwhelming kindness, generosity,

and compassion that resided in her heart, even if she did not realize it herself. Anakin felt humbled and ashamed even to be in the presence

of such a saintly woman, and he wondered if he could ever find such perfection in his own worthless life.

"Can you," he hesitated, but forced himself to follow through. "Can you teach me how to pray, Padme? Can you pray with me?"

The smile he received in return melted his heart.

"Of course I can."

And so she knelt on the ground beside him in a supplicant manner and joined her hands with his. And they prayed together, each their

own unique desires and yet just the same universal need to know and to fulfill their place in life.

Padme opened her eyes and found herself transfixed in his. She had never felt more complete than now, when she was in such close

proximity with him. She could see into his soul, and she freely revealed hers to him. There was no need for the semblance of courtship, no

need for romantic letters, no further need for words of any kind.

As if guided by some higher force, they walked together silently together up the stairs of the Church to her private quarters. Once there,

their lips and bodies locked together in a fervent passion as they fell upon her bed.

Her head lay peacefully on his chest. Sighing contently, she draped her arms around his broad frame. As the first glimpses of the morning

sunlight began to creep through the window onto her bed, Padme closed her eyes so that she could enjoy simply the soothing motions of

her lover's chest and the rhythmic beating of his heart.

And then it stopped.

Alarmed, Padme rose from her relaxation.

"Anakin!"

There was no reaction.

"Anakin," she tried again. Still nothing.

She yelled his name again and again, she proclaimed her love for him, she begged for him to return to her, she shook his body, she felt his

wrist for a pause, she slapped his cheek, she pressed her ears again against his chest, hoping to hear even the slightly tremble of a beat,

and even as she did all that, Padme Naberrie knew that it was in vain, for she did not need a decade's experience as a Whisperer to

know that Anakin Skywalker had passed away. So she cursed. She cursed the world, she cursed herself, she cursed the man that had

won her heart only to jilt her afterwards, and most of all, she cursed her God, Le Domine, for taking away from her the one man that she

found herself caring for more than anything in the Galaxy.

Confronted with thought of death again, Padme suddenly realized that she had yet to perform for him his last rites. But as she softly

caressed his chest, her gaze fixed upon the serene young man, a voice whispered to her she need not worry, for Anakin Skywalker

already belonged to the light.

Another voice told to her run, to flee quickly the native planet of the Emperor. Padme walked over to her window and looked outside. It

was just before dawn, and nary a man nor woman was up at this hour. She could probably make a clean getaway, but what of Anakin?

She couldn't just leave him behind in her bed, could she?

But when Padme's view returned to her bed, she could have sworn that she could see through the body that used to be the living,

breathing form of Anakin Skywalker. But this wasn't a hallucination. His body, from head to toe was fading, literally disappearing into thin

air, and before she could reach back and touch him for one final time, he was gone forever. If it weren't for the tattered robes he had

once worn nestled neatly against her bedsheet, conspicuously missing their owner, Padme would have never been able to prove to herself,

or anyone else, that he had existed in the first place.

The voice returned to her again, telling her not to think, but to move, before it was too late. And so she did. Without a moment's waste,

Padme ran down the steps of the Church to the Holy Man's speeder and never looked back.

Nine months later, on a planet far, far away, whatever omnipotent force it was that watched over the world answered both hers and

Anakin's prayers, and from that moment on, began the long process of answering the prayers of the rest of the Galaxy.

The End


End file.
